


play me like a fiddle

by emso



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bokuaka - Freeform, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, third years being unhelpful but well-meaning friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26660185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emso/pseuds/emso
Summary: After two years of playing on the same team as Akaashi Keiji, it would have been extremely difficult not to have picked up on this fact: Akaashi fiddles. A lot. As the teammate who spends the most time with him on- and off-court, Bokuto knows this better than anyone – it just doesn't really bother him. Until it does.Akaashi fiddles with everything.Everything.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 63
Kudos: 606
Collections: My favorite haikyuu fics, Tumblr Haikyuu!! Week 2020





	play me like a fiddle

**Author's Note:**

> _DAY 5: HABIT IS SECOND NATURE (Sept 29th)_  
>  A. Best Character Development  
> ☞ **B. Patterns and Habits**
> 
> akaashi fiddles & bokuto's like dang.
> 
> (that's literally it that's the fic seriously what am i even producing at this point lmao)

After two years of playing on the same team as Akaashi Keiji, it would have been extremely difficult not to have picked up on this fact: Akaashi fiddles. _A lot._

He mostly just fiddles with his own hands, twisting and bending at his fingers so much it's a wonder he hasn't rubbed them raw, but over the course of the two years – maybe simply as he's become more comfortable around them all – the habit trickles its way into other objects too. He'll knot the drawstrings of his hoodie together when they start bundling up for the winter; he'll tap and drum at the gym floor absentmindedly while they're lounging around talking after training; whenever they settle into their seats at someone's place or the local library to study, it takes little more than fifteen minutes for him to start spinning his mechanical pencil in his hand, balancing it precariously between his index and middle fingers without sparing it so much as a glance.

Basically – if there's something in the vicinity of Akaashi Keiji while he's distracted, or drowsy, or thinking really hard about something – it absolutely, unquestionably _will_ be fiddled with.

This is common knowledge to every one of his teammates. And as the teammate who spends the most time with him on- and off-court, Bokuto knows this better than anyone. It doesn't really bother him; why would it, right? It's never affected Akaashi's playing, he hasn't actually broken or damaged anything from toying with it, and fiddling is probably the quietest, least troublesome habit around.

Or.

Or so he thought.

"Um… Akaashi?"

Everyone, Akaashi included, looks up. They'd all been hunched over their textbooks and notes, scribbling away at their homework doggedly, the comfortable silence broken only occasionally by the sound of someone reaching into the box of Pocky they have open on the floor-table. Bokuto himself had been feeling pretty pleased with how on task he was managing to stay today; half his homework questions were done, and he was willing to bet most of them were even _correct_.

And then he'd felt something tug on the edge of his T-shirt.

Look, Bokuto knows he's maybe (slightly, only very slightly) more distractible than the average person. But this honestly wasn’t him making up a random reason to lose concentration for once. Because when he'd glanced over to his right to check what the source of the tugging was, he'd realised, with a confusing kind of heart-stutter, that it was Akaashi's _fingers_ , tangled into the soft cotton of the bottom edge of his shirt.

But when he'd quickly looked up, the beginnings of a question already on his lips, Akaashi hadn't even been facing him. He was poring over his painstakingly tidy handwritten notes as he had been all afternoon, the very picture of studiousness, completely immersed in his work. His right hand – the one _not_ currently occupied with playing with Bokuto's shirt – was absentmindedly tapping a highlighter against the tabletop, quietly enough that none of them had noticed. _Ah_ , Bokuto had thought, was _this_ also an extension of – that?

He’d figured he’d ask to be sure. Hence—

"You're about to make Akaashi check your answers again, aren't you," Komi accuses him now, loudly snapping a Pocky in half with his teeth.

"What?! _No_!" Though now that he mentions it, he _should_ also ask Akaashi to check his answers. Once he gets this out of the way first. "I was just gonna…" He looks down at the hand on his shirt again, and this time, Akaashi's attentive gaze follows.

Immediately, he snatches his hand away, eyes widening slightly. "Sorry," he says at once, clearly self-conscious. "Habit. I didn't realise I was – I'll stop it now. Sorry for bothering you."

"No, no, you're fine!" Bokuto waves the apology away airily, the belated thought that maybe he shouldn't have drawn attention to it only now hitting him. The tips of Akaashi's ears have gone rosy – he doesn't think he's ever actually seen that happen before. "I was just gonna ask if you wanted something, that's all."

Konoha frowns in bemusement, glancing between them. "Wait, are we missing something?"

Ah, right. He and Komi are sitting across the table, their line of sight to Akaashi's hand obscured. Okay – _this_ time, Bokuto tells himself, let's _not_ be dumb and embarrass Akaashi. "Nothing, nothing," he says dismissively. "Do your stuff. Akaashi's just gonna check my answers for me."

"Knew it," Komi snickers, pointing the remaining end of his pocky at Bokuto before tossing it into his mouth and turning the page of his textbook.

Once he's confident their attention is off him, Bokuto angles his notebook slightly further away from them all and scrawls at the top corner of his page: _it's really ok!!! You don't have to stop!!!_ After considering it for a moment, he adds two smiley faces just to make sure it sounds extra sincere, and then slides the notebook across to Akaashi.

Akaashi tilts his head to read the bizarrely-angled message and then turns quickly to face him. There's a question on his face, and Bokuto answers it with an easy shrug, wondering what more there is to explain. It's not like he's extending a super gracious courtesy or anything, right? It's no big deal, really.

Well. Okay, so he'll admit the thought of it is does seem just the _tiniest_ bit distracting, and oddly enough it's made his heart start beating at a funny pace, but both of those things are swamped by a far more overwhelming desire to just let Akaashi do it. Because – you know. If this helps him focus, he'll finish his work faster and have more time to help Bokuto with his. Probably. Or something.

Akaashi's eyes are still a little wide, but hold more curiosity than discomfiture now. Bokuto offers him a reassuring grin and gets a very tiny smile in response, before Akaashi gestures for him to pass his homework over, already reaching for his eraser to trudge through and fix up his errors as always. His ears are still tinged with that same blush-rose as Bokuto sits blithely beside him and waits for him to finish, leaning over to shower him with impressed noises and occasionally poke his cheek with a Pocky. He doesn't miss how Akaashi keeps his hand studiously curled into a fist in his own lap as he marks.

It doesn't leave his lap for the rest of afternoon, either.

* * *

Which is why Bokuto _almost_ forgets that it even happened, because – as weird as it had made him feel at the time – there are a hundred million other Very Important thoughts he goes through in a single day alone, and about four of those days pass before it happens again. It catches him equally off guard this time: they’re sitting together on the gym floor after the rest of the team's left, putting together everyone's holiday availabilities into a compiled document to give to Coach, and Akaashi's doing most of the mental work of surveying the loose leaf sheets spread over the ground while Bokuto just writes down exactly what Akaashi tells him to. A faint breeze wafts in through the open windows; Akaashi's shrugged on his jacket to avoid letting his sweat cool, but Bokuto, as always, has left his tossed on the floor between them.

He hears it before he sees it: the quiet susurration of a zipper being pulled up and down. Akaashi fiddling with his own zipper again, he thinks. Nothing new about that. Out of habit, he glances up anyway – and then blinks in surprise as he realises that he was right about Akaashi fiddling, but slightly less right about what he's fiddling _with_.

Well – it _is_ the zipper of a jacket. It’s just not Akaashi's.

Bokuto watches wordlessly as Akaashi, his eyes still fixed closely on Sarukui's barely legible schedule in front of him, slowly drags the zipper of Bokuto's discarded jacket up – all the way to the collar – and then, just as slowly, tugs at it to unzip it back open.

He swallows hard.

Oblivious, Akaashi leans slightly forward, a small frown creasing his forehead in concentration. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbles on it a little, and then runs his tongue across it to soothe the bite, leaving it a slightly shinier, slightly deeper pink than it had been a minute ago. In one hand he's still absently clutching the polyester of Bokuto's jacket. The other continues its treacherously slow zipping and unzipping and okay, _why_ is that so damn agonising when there’s no reason for it to be at all?

Inexplicably flustered, and feeling heat rise under his collar despite the cool breeze that’s still drifting in, Bokuto chokes out, “Akaashi, that’s – that’s mine, right?”

“Hm?” Akaashi reflexively turns his head towards Bokuto before actually dragging his gaze off the paper too. “Which?”

“The – uh—" He’s blanking. Why can’t he remember the word for it?! He had it a second ago, he’s sure of it, but now all he can do is gesture vaguely in the direction of Akaashi’s hands.

Akaashi looks down at his lap and immediately stills his hands. “Oh – yes, you’re right, this is your jacket.” His voice is mild, and totally composed; perhaps he finds it less awkward for the fiddling to be pointed out when it’s just the two of them. “Sorry, did you want me to stop?”

Bokuto clears his throat. It’s gone dry all of a sudden. Hayfever, maybe. “No!” Wincing after the way the word cracks a little, he forces himself to lower his volume and tries again. “N-no. I don’t mind.” He tries for as ordinary a laugh as humanly possible, but it definitely still comes out a couple decibels too loud. Seriously, what is _up_ with him? “Ha. You know me. Why would I mind?! I don’t mind anything!”

Looking a little quizzical at his pitchiness, but thankfully not mentioning it, Akaashi gives him a softly amused smile. “ _You_ don’t mind anything? …Right. Absolutely.”

"I _don't_ ," Bokuto insists. "I already told you last time, I don't mind… that." Although the flush on his neck might disagree. Well, that's – a completely normal reaction to the implications of the leisurely drag of that zipping-unzipping. Anyone in his position right now, he thinks to himself reassuringly, would feel exactly the same way.

"Um, _no_ they wouldn't," is what Konoha tells him when he asks the third-years about it the next day, however.

"Yeah, that's weird," declares Komi. "You're weird."

Spluttering, Bokuto puts his half-bitten tamagoyaki back down and looks between them all indignantly. "You weren't _there_ for it."

"We've been 'there for it' for the past two years, Bokuto," Konoha says dryly, while Sarukui goes to swipe the tamagoyaki straight out of his bento. "Literally none of us have ever felt… whatever it is you're feeling right now. It's—"

"Stop saying it's weird!" Bokuto protests, swatting Sarukui's chopsticks out of the way. "I'm not saying I'd feel like that if _anyone_ was fiddling, just that… I mean, you've gotta admit Akaashi has really pretty hands!"

Visibly appalled, Konoha says, "We've gotta admit that Akaashi has _what_? Dude, do you _actually_ like him or something?"

Bokuto gives him a blank stare, puzzled by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Of course I like him. Who doesn't?"

"I don't think he's talking about that kind of 'like', Bokuto," Washio says, as Komi bursts into peals of delighted laughter beside him. "He's asking whether you'd want to, you know, date him."

"Whether I'd want to… date him," Bokuto echoes. A beat passes while they all sit and watch him patiently.

"Let's give him another second," Konoha tells the others.

When it finally registers, Bokuto emits a kind of strangled yelping noise he wasn't aware he had the capacity to produce and stares around at them all, nonplussed. "What do you mean – date him? You – what… _guys_! Don't you think this is coming a little out of nowhere?!"

Konoha squints at him in apparent incredulity while Washio hums and says, "Not at all, actually."

"We've kind of talked about it before, in passing," says Sarukui, his tone utterly matter-of-fact, around a mouthful of (Bokuto's) egg. Bokuto turns to look at him a little wildly, frankly more flabbergasted by how nonchalant they're all being than the content of the allegation itself. "Not to _you_ , obviously. But we did think it was possible. You talk about him a lot. We just… wondered."

Komi props his chin in both hands and leans forward across the table interestedly, fascination sparkling in his eyes. "So? Do you?"

" _No!_ " Even before he's even finished saying the word, though, he realises there's a _small_ chance that his vehemence might just be a tad unwarranted. "…I think," he tacks on, mumbling it mostly to himself with a kind of dazed cognizance. Is he really considering this? _Really?_ And if all the third-years noticed – _something_ , whatever that 'something' actually is – does that mean maybe Akaashi has too? No, no: he would've said something if he'd noticed, right? But Akaashi's so observant!How could he possibly not have noticed?

"Look, his eyes are glazing over," Komi chortles, and Konoha reaches out to snap two fingers sharply in front of his face, making him blink. "Hey. You don't have to freak out about it."

"I'm not," says Bokuto automatically, wringing his hands together.

A meaningful look passes between his friends, and Sarukui leans over to give him a consoling little pat on the arm. "Don't worry," he says, "I'm sure it'll all be fine. Just listen to your gut."

* * *

His gut keeps doing this uncomfortable twisty thing when he asks it for some better answers, though, and he doesn't get any closer to a useful conclusion until Akaashi, somewhat out of the blue, texts him on the weekend inviting him over. He'd said yes unthinkingly – of course – and it only occurs to him once he's seated next to Akaashi on the floor of his room, their backs leaned against the bed, that he hadn't actually mentioned _why_.

"So?" he prompts, mindlessly tossing Akaashi's volleyball above his head and catching it. "What's up?"

Akaashi takes a moment to respond, and Bokuto steals a glance at him; he's looking down at his lap, brow slightly furrowed, thumbs already twiddling. "It's a bit silly, actually."

"You can tell me! I bet it isn't silly at all."

"No, it's…" With an almost inaudible huff of frustration, seemingly at himself, Akaashi lifts his head to meet Bokuto's encouraging gaze. It is at this moment that Bokuto's brain conveniently decides to remind him of That Thing he's been thinking about all week, and he just barely manages to stop himself from inhaling his own spit as Akaashi fixes those candid dark eyes on him.

"Do you ever worry that you're not being a good enough captain?" he says, unexpectedly.

Eloquent as ever, Bokuto replies, "Huh?"

"I think you're a wonderful captain, of course. But – do you ever worry?"

Despite being admittedly caught off-guard by the question, he pauses to consider it properly, and realises after no more than a matter of seconds that it's never even occurred to him as something to be concerned about. So he answers honestly, "Nope."

The corners of Akaashi's mouth quirk up. "I guessed as much. But then you _are_ a bit of a special case." He leans his head back against the bed and sighs. "You're… quite extraordinary."

 _Oh._ Is this about what he thinks it might be about?

"It's not because of _me_ ," he says bluntly, blindly trusting his instincts. "Even though I'd say I'm pretty great most of the time. It's because I just can't imagine my team ever falling apart, whether or not I'm being a perfect captain. I know it's not actually all on me – _that's_ why I don't worry." And because Akaashi won't ever ask outright for the reassurance, no matter how much he wants to hear it, he nudges him gently with his elbow and then tosses the ball at him. "But _you_ shouldn't worry because you're gonna be a better captain than I ever was."

Startled, Akaashi catches the ball, fumbling with it slightly. He seems lost for words for a brief, unusual moment – but then his smile widens just enough for Bokuto to catch it before he bites down on it. He seems wrapped up in his thoughts; his tugging and twisting of his own fingers has intensified. “Like I said,” he murmurs, gazing down at the volleyball in his lap, “quite extraordinary.”

This hits Bokuto a little like a punch right to the gut; the gut which suddenly seems to have decided that now is a good time to start providing him with the answers he’s been bugging it for all week. He coughs nervously and hopes it's not showing on his face. Not that it looks like Akaashi would've noticed anyway, since Bokuto can see in his periphery that he's still engrossed in fiddling away, his eyes contemplative. _Seriously_. He's going to spoil those lovely elegant fingers if he keeps that up.

"Oi, stop that," he says, batting Akaashi's hands away from one another as casually as he can. Akaashi looks at him in surprise.

"I thought you said I didn't have to stop," he says. "Is it bothering you after all?"

"You're going to give yourself blisters," Bokuto mutters, and then, because his gut feels quite strongly about him doing this and Sarukui _told him_ he should listen to it, he pushes the ball out of Akaashi's lap and drops his head into it instead, flopping over onto his back on the floor. Akaashi blinks down at him in slight bewilderment. Both his hands are hovering in the air where he'd hastily pulled them out of the way to avoid their getting squashed by Bokuto's head.

Bokuto screws his eyes shut and says in a rush, "If you need something to fiddle with, I'd rather you mess up my hair than your own hands. You're a _setter_. You should take better care of them."

He keeps his eyes tightly shut while he waits for a response, willing his heart to stop pounding so _loud_. Gosh – it feels like it's going to rattle the very walls of the room. Can Akaashi hear it? Does he think this is weird?

He starts as he feels a tentative touch settle in his hair, and then careful fingers carding through it, as deliberately delicate as ever. He releases a relieved breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding and dares to open his eyes a crack even as his pulse climbs even further. Akaashi's still looking down at him wonderingly, his expression a blur of puzzlement and intrigue and something like fondness. His hands continue their hushed trail across his scalp, gingerly loosening the tangles of his hair, mindful not to hurt him. Then the pad of his pinky finger brushes lightly across the top of Bokuto's forehead and he feels all the air leave his lungs in one prompt _whoosh_ as it all sort of – falls into place.

Well. He supposes he has his answer, then.

* * *

"But what I'm asking you is what I'm supposed to do _now_."

"How are _we_ supposed to know?" Konoha flicks a fly away from his lunch in annoyance. "It's not like we have any more experience than you do with crushing on our vice-captain."

Bokuto moans out of sheer despair for his own fate. As it turns out, it's not actually such a good idea to become aware of your feelings for someone you have to see _constantly_ – it's significantly harder to focus on swinging at the sets Akaashi sends his way when his stomach keeps fluttering in anticipation of the smile he'll get if he makes it a nice, solid spike. But it's a little too late for that kind of logic now, he supposes. And, anyway, it's not like he's exactly a coward when it comes to rushing headlong into circumstances he's unprepared for. "But should I tell him?!"

"Why don't you do that thing where you listen to your gut again?" Komi suggests. "You said it got you this far."

Bokuto eyes him a little reproachfully. He's beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that these guys are _not_ , in fact, all that helpful a source of wisdom, but the only other person he could go to for good advice is obviously… not exactly an option right now. "I'm not so sure that my gut's being a very rational actor at the moment."

At this, Sarukui pipes up, "Well, obviously. Feelings aren't rational. That's why you just have to do what feels right for you, take it slow, and—"

" _I_ personally think you should tell him exactly what you told us," Komi interrupts. He places a hand on his own heart and pulls a dramatically anguished expression. " _Oh, Akaashi. Ever since the first time I ever saw you fiddle those bewitching hands, I knew_ —"

"Oh, shut up," Konoha says, shoving him away. He catches Bokuto's eye while he's in the middle it and immediately double-takes, freezing as a look of dread filters onto his face. "Wait. Stop. You're not actually considering doing that, are you?"

Completely ignoring his obvious alarm, Bokuto just tells him brightly, "You know what? I think I _am_ just gonna listen to my gut."

Which is how he ends up marching into the gym that afternoon with the four of them trailing after him, wearing matching expressions of dubiousness as Bokuto flings open the doors to make his grand entrance. Akaashi looks up from his warm-up stretches at the sound of them stepping inside. "Hello—"

"Akaashi," Bokuto says gravely, and the rest of Akaashi's greeting instantly fades on his lips. He straightens, one hand loosely propped on his hip, wariness creeping onto his face as he scrutinises the 'Don't Look At Us, We're Not With Him' crew still huddled behind Bokuto.

Hesitant, he asks, "Is… everything okay?"

"I have something to ask you."

"Okay," says Akaashi, slowly. His eyes again dart over to the other third-years (who all simultaneously avert their gazes) and then swivel back to land, slightly waveringly, on Bokuto. "Go ahead."

Bokuto grins somewhat sheepishly. "You know you fiddle a _lot_ , right? Akaashi?"

Akaashi cocks his head to one side, seeming perplexed by the arbitrary question. "…Yes?"

"And you fiddle with all kinds of things. Like my clothes. And my hair."

"But I thought you said you—" Apparently deciding there's little point in trying to figure out where this spontaneous line of interrogation is logically headed, Akaashi changes tack midway through the sentence and instead settles for another uncertain, "Yes."

Spirit of the ace, spirit of the _ace_ , Bokuto repeats mentally, sucking down a huge breath to steel himself. _Here goes nothing._ "Well," he says, as boldly as he can manage with everyone's eyes on him and adrenaline coursing through his veins, "did you know that, lately – you've also been fiddling with my _heart_?"

Over in the far corner, Anahori drops the volleyball in his hands. It bounces once on his foot before dribbling pathetically away from him. A stunned silence falls over the entire gym.

"Oh… my god," Komi wheezes, from behind him.

Bokuto turns to gauge their reactions and is met with the sight of Konoha closing his eyes with an incredibly pained expression on his face. "Holy shit. You _idiot_."

"Wow," Sarukui says, his mild tone belied by the way he's clutching onto (a very resigned-looking) Washio's shoulder, as if the physical force of cringing is about to knock him over. "Wow. I really wish you'd take that back. Like, right now."

"What?" He pouts at their disappointing lack of supportive cheering. Not even a _single_ wolf-whistle of approval. _Honestly._ "I was kinda proud of myself for coming up with that one."

Just as Konoha starts vigorously shaking his head, a muffled laugh has Bokuto swiftly whirling back around. Wincing at the whiplash, he scrubs at his neck and looks, wide-eyed, at Akaashi – who has the back of his hand held over his mouth, hiding an affectionate smile behind those dainty, meticulously-taped fingers. When their eyes meet, Akaashi lets his hand fall to his side so the smile is revealed – finally – in its full warmth. It just might bowl Bokuto over.

"Sorry about that. Habit." Akaashi's voice is as mellow as always, but suppressed mirth bubbles just beneath the surface of his words. (Bokuto's getting good at picking up on that, these days.) Holding his gaze, but with the faintest trace of a genuine question lining his words, he continues lightly, "Did you… want me to stop?"

Bokuto beams at him then. He doesn't even have to think about this one. "No," he says, every nook and cranny of his heart filled only with the soft, pretty sound of Akaashi's barely-stifled laugh, "not even the _tiniest_ bit."

**Author's Note:**

> akaashi fiddles & everyone thinks it's cute………but when i fiddle my sister just tells me i'm 'annoying her peripheral vision' fanfics r a Scam…………
> 
> can we get an f in the comments for the We're Not With Him Committee 😔 they were just doing their best 😔😔😔
> 
> ( and hi, come [talk to me](https://soeunaa.tumblr.com) maybe !!! )


End file.
